


Based On A True Story

by RedTeamShark



Series: What IS Game Night? [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Denny's, Designated Adult Steve Rogers, Drunken Shenanigans, Gen, Milkshakes, Pre-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Steak and Shake, The Avengers Are Good Bros
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-06
Updated: 2019-06-06
Packaged: 2020-04-11 17:35:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19114483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedTeamShark/pseuds/RedTeamShark
Summary: “I don’t give a damnwhereyou are, youalwaysend up at Denny’s after a night of drinking. Always.”





	Based On A True Story

Game Night doesn’t always devolve into drunken shenanigans, mostly because a number among them _can’t_ get drunk, but when it does, it usually ends in spectacular flames.

“No, no, no,” Clint insists, waving his beer bottle in Bruce’s general direction. “I don’t give a damn _where_ you are, you _always_ end up at Denny’s after a night of drinking. Always.”

“Only uncultured swine end up at Denny’s, Clint--” Tony’s interrupted by a belch from the archer and a laugh “--those of us with _class_ go to Steak and Shake.”

Bruce snorts a laugh into his palm, shaking his head. “Classy drunk college students. That’s definitely an oxymoron.”

“I have no idea what any of you are talking about.” It’s Natasha for once, not Steve, who stills the conversation with an admission of ignorance. She takes another sip of her drink, meeting each set of wide eyes on her. “What? I grew up in communism and also a murder house.”

“Steve, get the jet,” Tony orders, standing up and grabbing his coat, tossing jackets to the others. “You’re sober, you’re flying us to Steak and Shake.”

Clint shrugs on his jacket, finishing his beer and slinging an arm around Natasha’s shoulders. “We’re gonna end up at Denny’s,” he slurs into her ear, laughing. “Mark my words.”

Steve shakes his head, one arm supporting Bruce and the other supporting Tony as he leads the way to the quinjet. “Just so we’re clear, I’m locking each and every one of you drunks into the safety harness before I take off. I’m not having another emergency landing at Kennedy.”

“It’s too bad Thor’s off-world right now, because he would _love_ the milkshakes,” Bruce adds, quite possibly the steadiest of the group of drinkers.

With all four of his inebriated charges strapped in and the route to the Steak and Shake (it’s in _Pennsylvania_ , what sort of nonsense is he signing up for?) programmed into the quinjet, Steve lets their slurred conversations roll over him and takes off into the night. Bruce and Clint are in an animated argument about what flavor of milkshake Thor would like best, with the former arguing in favor of Chocolate Fudge Brownie and the latter insisting that “Thor is absolutely vanilla” to Natasha and Tony’s endless amusement.

The upside is that it’s a quick flight. The downside is that it’s just long enough that everyone apparently gets bored before he lands. Steve sets the jet down gently, stepping into the back and starting the process of unhooking everyone. “You know, he probably drinks those protein shakes.”

“There’s a big difference between a protein shake and a milkshake, Rogers.” Tony staggers across the quinjet, tapping a side panel. It _should_ be equipment storage, but the panel opens to reveal…

Steve groans. “You outfitted the quinjet--which we should only use for official Avenger business, by the way--with a minibar?”

“C’mon, this is practically official Avenger business.” Clint makes his way over, taking shot glasses from Tony as the man fills them with amber liquid. He passes them out, all four drinkers throwing back the shots with a cheer.

“This is me dragging the four of you to a restaurant at…” He glances at his watch, “one in the morning because you wanted milkshakes.”

“Because we _didn’t_ want to end up at Denny’s,” Tony corrects him, passing out another round of shots before making his way off the jet with a confident swagger, only slightly marred when he nearly falls off the ramp. “But now milkshakes sound good.”

Steve follows them, trying to keep the four of them to the sidewalk, a process similar to herding cats as far as he can tell. He drags Clint down from climbing a telephone pole for a “strategistic advantage,” stops Natasha from disappearing into an alley to sneak up on the Steak and Shake from its vulnerable side, locks down a Code Green when Bruce almost walks in front of a car, and denies Tony four piggy-backs.

And he parked the jet four blocks away from the restaurant.

They open the outer door to the vestibule, all four of them talking at full volume about what flavor of milkshake to get, Tony insisting the loudest that they should get all of them because, it has come to his attention, Natasha has never had a milkshake before.

“Communism and a murder house, remember?” She punches his shoulder lightly. “I’ll get whatever Barton tells me is good.”

“One of each. Just to be sure you like it.”

“Um, excuse me.” There’s a slip of a girl, maybe in her early twenties, wearing a red polo shirt and a hat with the Steak and Shake logo on it, standing in the other doorway. Steve shoulders to the front of the crowd, shushing everyone else.

“Table for five, if we can.”

“Well, that’s the thing, we’re actually closed for a manager’s meeting right now.”

He looks past her, to the scattering of people inside. Small groups, mostly college age, drinking milkshakes and eating burgers and fries. Steve smiles. “Sorry, our mistake. We’ll go somewhere else.” He turns, clapping his hands together. “Avengers! Pack it up.”

They shuffle out of the vestibule, dropping down to sit on the sidewalks. It’s quiet in the still night air, before Clint sighs, pulling out his phone.

“Hey Siri, find me a Denny’s.”

The phone dings, the female voice speaking from it. _“Directions to Denny’s near you.”_

Somehow, Clint guides them across the city to the Denny’s, all five of them settling into a corner booth. Tony wedges himself into the far corner, Steve and Bruce on one side of him, Clint and Natasha on the other.

He stares at the menu as conversation ebbs and flows around him, discussing what foods to get, who’s brave enough to order off the dinner menu at two in the morning, the fact that they have, indeed, ended up at Denny’s (and with quite the crowd of equally drunk college students).

Orders are placed and finally, food is delivered. Tony grabs his strawberry milkshake, sticking a straw right into the chilled metal canister rather than pouring it into the provided glass--that’s a bit too much hand eye coordination. He holds it with both hands, sipping in content.

“Oh, god!” He cries out suddenly, reaching up and grasping his temples--poor decision, his cold hands are not helping the brain freeze and now there’s milkshake all down the front of his shirt.

It draws attention and laughter, Steve reaching over with napkins in an effort to mop him up. Bruce leans around him, trying to catch Tony’s eye. “Put your tongue on the roof of your mouth.”

“You learned that from Bear Grylls,” Clint accuses, pointing. “Does it work?” He snatches up his own milkshake, drinking rapidly until his eyes widen.

“Is this like the sno-cone thing? You have to drink it before it melts?” Natasha picks up Clint’s abandoned milkshake, drinking quickly.

“Hey hey give that back that’s mine--”

Game night doesn’t always devolve into drunken shenanigans. And those shenanigans don’t always end in spectacular flames.

Sometimes they end in brain freeze.

**Author's Note:**

> Nearly this exact scenario happened to me in college.
> 
> I may have been Tony by the time we reached the Denny's.


End file.
